The Midgardians
by alirodina
Summary: just a journey by a group of less than honest people in search of their guildmaster. might be mild lemon... yaoi, too, if you don't mind.
1. Alberta

Ragnarok: The Midgardians

Author's Note: this is not mine, although thanks to Myoung Jin Lee sama for the whole idea, this 'cult' would never have been if he hadn't created the manwah. And all hail Gravity for making it harder and harder to level up and for all the lag in Glast Heim. We owe it to you guys!

As for the characters, though, they are indeed mine, and I would owe it to you not to use them in any way as your own, flattering as that possibility is. Names and character designs would be copyrighted, I think once the public sees the work in question.

This is dedicated to Kaze321, Mordred7, ErichvanFalkenhayn and FranzHaydn who have accompanied elegiac's journey in search of the light of God. May His blessings be with you all always.

Part 1: Alberta

The village bell tolled the hours as slowly as equilibrically possible in it's crumbling haven of equally dilapidated tower. Some of the villagers stopped complaining long enough to take note of the lateness of the hour, but most of them are too immersed in perusal of the day's meager returns to even pay attention. Alberta, home to the thousands of merchants in Rune Midgard was not a famous and crowded place, despite of the well known fact that most of the overpriced items you despair of ever getting in the capital city could be got with a song there. On the contrary, the lack of tourists or even wanderers to grace the town with their foreign money and new blood had forced the more hard up merchants to leave their homes and travel to more populated place like the adventurers they are. It was not surprising actually, the sad truth of the town's lack of charms. It was such an out of the way place. Who would want to go all the way there when things could be had, if not cheaper then at least reasonably in other towns like Morroc? And especially now, when all sorts of things have been happening… no, Alberta was as it would always be… a sleepy old town with a handful of cottages that would have been grand and imposing half a century ago, but was only sad and decrepit now. It was a place of luxury, yes. Plenty of the old blood still around with their regal manners and costly attire. Luxury, yes, but it was as if it was remembered from the past. Certainly not of the times now...when the sages have perhaps learned too much and the alchemists gone too far with their playing God.

The man himself had the vague manner of the old blood. He lived all alone in his shop with only his owl to keep him company, but whenever he went outside to perhaps purchase some ingredient he needed for his potions, or to buy provisions and heaven knows what else, they would all look at him with the same mixture of fear and respect some of the newer blood dreams of attaining but never succeeding, walking as he did with his head held high and his serene countenance unchanging even as merchants bawled at him from under his nose the wares they are trying to sell as quickly as possible. They say that he was well traveled… that he had gone across places so fast he was not even sure of its location and maybe even its name. He certainly acted differently from the people of the town. And perhaps the foreign does that to you. Change you so that only the core of the man he really is was left. And the superficiality of customs was but a garment one can take off at will. He was polite enough however, and would even stop now and then in his path to help an old hag here, a harassed worker there. Nothing he did was ever remarkable, even though he was one of those Holy Trespassers. He possessed no odd habits that people love so to gossip about. Not a bad mannered young man all in all. What made so well known to the townspeople was not his own doing at all. Unless it was odd not to gossip about as others do, or act so kind and remote. It all comes down to the fact that in that crowd of men all fighting for survival in a sleepy town, he was the most noticeable. Not because he made himself to be but more to the contrary.

Cylade himself knew only a small portion of the town's ridiculous stories about him, ranging from the most romantic of separations with a pretty and royal lover to the most cruel of murders, he was rumored to have risen against all odds and came back home to Alberta, home to his fathers to nurse his broken heart and perhaps fall in love again or to hide from the authorities. When he first heard of the stories, he was torn between amusement and annoyance. But now, he felt indifferent to it all. Let the townspeople have their fun. It did not matter to him in the least. And that was what bothered him now.

He was one of the few who paid enough attention to the mournful tolling of the bell to heave a sigh and think about the passing of the hours. He dreaded the night. Yes, but he could also find nothing so remarkable in daylight that he wished it never to end. He simply did not care. It did not matter that he was tired of the baked beans his housekeeper keeps on cooking…it needed some meat, too, but he had the suspicion the sly old lady was bringing home the bits the butcher sends in exchange for several bottles of his slim potions. Likewise, he was never going to know, was he? And of course he did not care enough to raise the question that was sure to cause a lot of trouble. Meat. Dinner. None of those concerned him now. But looking at the fire as he pounded at the red herb absently, he wondered. What did concern him?

" You need to get out of here for a while. Alberta is stifling you. You need to go and travel the way you used to do." Sage told him, preening his feathers by the crackling fire by the hearth.

That suggestion amused him. He was not allowed to get out of Alberta. It was all part of the price he had to pay for his relatively quiet and untroubled life. He had been living the whole long list of rules so that he didn't feel like it was being alive anymore. Existing was eternally possible, however. And Cylade had the suspicion that that was exactly what he had been doing the past ten years. The thought depressed him.

" You have just received a message from Vanraillyn. Shall I read it for you?" Sage said, not without the predictable hoots and clicks at intervals. He kept tossing his ruffled head in the coy attitude Cylade hated and was eyeing his master with an all-knowing expression in his large eyes.

" You know very well that I do. Now stop hooting and act like the civilized messenger bird that you should be but never will." His master snapped. The owl ignored this. After all, hadn't he been with Cylade ever since he had been hatched from an egg? If lifetime was not enough to get used to a person, then he didn't know what was.

" Message from Sir Vanraillyn Argentum, knight of Izlude to Cylade of Alberta.

" Well, good friend, it has been ten long years since the decision to leave off from what we had been so known for. I cannot say that the matter pleased me. Back then I was in no position to judge anything. I will not say anything now. Although I assure you that it is of a more political decision than anything else. For you see, something had happened to change the courses of things. I hope that you would forget all of this for a moment and help me, for I need all the help I can get. And you, as well as the other four are the only people I could trust in this. However, I could not say what I should in this letter, since in some ways inconceivable to me, it could be intercepted. I will send someone to meet you at the place where you first saw the sunrise your new hometown had to offer. You will know this person. And yes, he is still the disgusting drunkard that you know him to be. I hope you will bear with him. Since it will be him who will accompany you on your journey. May the blessings of the gods be with you." Sage rumbled on in a voice no one but his master could have understood, having been forced to listen to the garbled sentences for more than half his life.

Cylade was about to say something characteristic of him, either dry or cynical, but the owl gave a final hoot. " And, oh, Cylade, please stop being such a prig and come. You people have always undervalued my efforts to protect you in the past. I would not have it now. I am freeing you of the pact to stay in your native town. And believe me, I have every right to do that as the guild's First Position. Sage, you must convince him."

" That's so typical of Lynn." Cylade exclaimed hotly. " To give off orders in a letter like that and expect me to go obey him meekly like the poor alchemist that I am. Who does he think he is?"

" Well, like he said… he is the holder of the First Position. And coming as you both are from one of the most infamous guilds ever created, that is indeed something. You know, Cyle, you protest too much." Sage said, glibly.

" And what does that mean?" Cylade asked, with such a cold look that his owl knew he didn't need an answer. " Whatever. Anyway, I am still a part of them. So I guess I should go. Although imprisoned as I had been, they don't really deserve that loyalty. Damn it. And yet, knowing Lynn…"

" He would never have asked for your help unless he had no other choice in the matter. Aside from his 'undervalued efforts to protect all of you' he's also a stubborn fool who just can't say 'help'." Sage quipped, sarcastically. Mentally noting that perhaps all knights had to be stubborn. Then perhaps his master missed his vocation in life.

" I was to be an alchemist. You can't have me whacking at things with a sword I can barely carry, can you?" Cylade muttered, surprising Sage. It used to be that they wouldn't have to talk to understand each other. But ever since the long exile in Alberta, Cylade had been keeping himself more and more to himself. The sudden link between their minds was like a quick shower of raindrops in a moor. And the owl would have smiled. " Might as well go and see that man now, right? Whoever could that drunkard be?" the last sentence was an impatient whisper. The alchemist hated undignified people. He didn't have to deal with them back then, and those few that he had met sobered up at the sight of one of his cold looks. Suffice to say, Sage could but predict a dire future concerning that man whom the irascible knight had sent. " Don't tell me it's…"

" Not that young man from the gates of Culvert who had been following you with the persistence and faith of a lover? He was really enamored of you, you know. And he got to be a real drunk ever since you turned him down. Don't tell me you don't remember?" Sage said, with a slightly humorous tone that he seldom used in speaking to the alchemist.

" What man? Don't tell me that… that weird guy who was selling over priced headgears?" the alchemist shuddered at the memory. Oh, what had he done that the gods granted him such a life and such a lover! " Damn you, Lynn. And he must have sent the kid in hopes of my making out with him."

" But such a chance as you would never have! I was telling you that a change in scenery would do you good, and wham! A letter arrives from Sir Vanraillyn telling you to travel to Izlude and meet him. I call that fate. Don't you?"

" So? That doesn't mean I'm going."

" Don't we have too much to say? Aren't we protesting too much? We're probably afraid of this old lover whom we have slept with once or twice when we were younger." Sage snickered. It was not every day that one could poke fun at the overly serious alchemist. And he was enjoying himself.

" I have not, if you have, my dear. I don't sleep with anyone. Never had, never will. Now, mind the store and wait for my return." Cylade took his voluminous coat from the hook by the door and hesitated for a moment before putting it on. It was not that cold. Barely past summer yet. But he didn't like going out in less than full ensemble. The coat for him was nothing more or less than a security blanket. It was the barrier that separated him from the greater sins of man. Deciding on the affirmative, he buttoned the old fashioned cameo buttons slowly, taking note that the fire was almost out and that he needed more firewood, and went out.

..

The alchemist went along the almost deserted streets swiftly. It was long since he ventured outside his shop. And he wanted the interview to end quickly. He did not see the novice hurrying at his direction. And the collision was strong enough knock them both off their feet.

Cylade recovered first. He stood up and looked down at the kid. Swallowing the sharp reprimand that he would normally have said, the alchemist held out his hand and helped the novice up instead. " Watch where you are going." He said, as gently as he could, and was prepared to go on his way, when the kid pulled at his arm in agitation.

" You are one of the Midagardians!" he said, breathlessly. Eyes widening at this unexpected meeting with a member of the infamous guild.

The alchemist hesitated, unconsciously placing a hand over the tell tale brooch on his cloak that had the guild's insignia carved on it. There was no lying to the kid, of course. He bowed his head. " Yes, I am." It used to be that they worked in stealth. That no one even knew who the Midgardians really was. But he felt the times changing. Maybe… they weren't the same fearsome people they had been before.

" C- can I know your name, mister?" the kid stammered, probably dying to tell the story to his mates later in the comfort of the living room at home. That he was still alive was a story to tell in itself.

The older man looked at him with a placid face. His was not the face of a boy's hero. Not the awe inspiring and battered face of a warrior that could look kindly and harsh at the same time. Instead, he looked like a broken hearted lover who was still in search of his lost love. A small girl's fantasy come alive. Not the fearsome man he had been thinking and dreaming to copy. And yet, was not the alchemist's pretty face scary itself? If such a man could be capable of the crimes….

The alchemist's voice cut through the novice's thoughts.

" I," nobody had ever asked him his name before. Didn't this kid know the rules? The Midgardians never gave their names to anybody unless they were to kill. But maybe… yes, it was perhaps the truth. The times were changing. The feared guild was no more than a story to impress kids. Novices like this. " I am Cylade."

..

The bar was crowded. It was probably the only building in Alberta that was doing any business whatsoever. Sometimes, one can even chance upon one of the Old Blood wizards going around there like they owned the whole place, which they probably did. In Cylade's opinion wizards from the old family are as tolerable as the Mukha's damned song. Never mind their supposed to be genteel manners and polite cultured tones. They were so proud of their lineage they prove to be quite the opposite of what their names symbolize.

The man he was looking for was already on his tenth mug of ale. The alchemist winced at the fool's extravagance. Why could he not have just gotten drunk on mead? It was cheaper than ale. Let Vanraillyn pay for that. He certainly wasn't.

" Cylade!" the man shouted his name in a bleary voice, his already red face turning a sickly shade of eggplant. He was sweating profusely in his long woolen cloak, but the heat didn't seem to bother him as much as the sight of his idol did. Brushing as unobtrusively as possible at the front of his creased trousers to hide his drunken body's response to the alchemist's proximity, he proceeded to tell the dire news right then and there to lighten the atmosphere.

" Lynn told me to come."

" I know that. You are here before me. Pray continue." The alchemist said, trying not to let his inborn snobbishness get the better of him.

" Your guild master's gone, man. And Izlude needs you."

" What do you mean gone? Gone where?" _For you see, something has happened to change the course of things._

" He's gone and vanished. The Midgardians are no more."

Ai: for those to whom it matters, the alchemist's build specializes mostly in potion pitching. I think it's called the Int/Dex build. But he's more of a supporting character than a zeny maker or a battle one… if there is something like a battle alchemist. Right, let me stop raving about him.


	2. Geffen

Part 2: Geffen

The knight scanned the crowd almost impatiently. He had implicitly requested the wizard to meet him inside the city, but knowing him, he's probably out there doing exactly the opposite. It's not that Sichael was, in nature particularly hard to manage. In fact it was actually the opposite, that the wizard was an introverted and quiet guy with such a penchant for perfection that was enough to drive the most loving person nuts. He would obey commands only when they were politely put and providing that his own sharp mind could see the sense thereof. The knight knew this and had followed suit, sending out the least offensive of the cunning messenger boys, and had said his request in the most coherent manner possible hoping that the wizard would see sense and come accordingly. But of course, it was not that easy. Having another, somewhat impure reason for calling out to Sichael did not help either.

Vanraillyn ran a hand through his hair distractedly. There was a decent number of people scattered around the square, some of them haggling with the merchants and blacksmiths, some just resting after perhaps some rigorous training or bounty hunting, the mage novices could be seen going around distractedly, looking for items they need and checking those which they already have in order to make the potion that would let them pass the exams. And some, judging by the same impatient look on their faces, had the same business in the city as Vanraillyn, looking for somebody… if the person was still alive. The knight's hand tightened around the reins of his pecopeco involuntarily. There was nothing wrong with the wizard of course, he chided himself as he tried to calm his mount. Sichael just can't die that easily. He was a Midgardian, one of the infamous guild of backstabbers. Forget that he attracts too much lascivious attention. Sichael could look after himself. It was just that the wizard always succeeds in making the knight worry without seeming to wish it. Hell, Sichael probably wasn't even aware of it.

Vanraillyn guided his pecopeco carefully across the thoroughfare, trying to look out for the wizard and keep from squashing some hapless kid into pulp with the peco's large claws.

" Lynn."

The knight turned around sharply when he heard the familiar cool voice. " Sikh?"

The peco cried out in protest but Vanraillyn didn't care. The wizard was safe and was there right before him, as requested. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure the other could hear and would scoff at him for being such a fool and a damned worrier. " I didn't think you would be coming."

" I almost didn't," the wizard said, calmly. He focused his nearsighted black eyes on the hulk of the knight before him with a sort of intensity that Vanraillyn was surprised he had forgotten. " you've gotten thinner."

" Well, problems do that to everybody. You wouldn't know, though." Vanraillyn beamed at his companion in a manner not a whit short of a person who has found the proverbial hidden treasure. " Have you eaten? I'm famished."

" We could go to my place." The wizard looked at the other direction vaguely, like he was thinking of something else.

" Couldn't wait to have me to yourself, huh?" the knight kidded, winking at him roguishly. " I missed you too, you know."

" Shut up." Sichael blushed characteristically. He was so pale that it was a mere pinkish glow that tinged his thin cheeks. " You don't really know when to sober up, do you?"

" You don't really know when to have fun, do you?" his lover retorted. " Really, Sikh. Aren't we going to your house now? I could use one of your home cooked meals. Traveling from Izlude is no mean feat dear. And Peaky here needs to rest."

" You didn't have to ride her all the way into the city, you know." Sichael said, starting to lead the way his home. He paused for a while as the knight took his cue and alighted from his mount nimbly to walk beside the wizard. " It might take a while for that meal though. I haven't given much thought to dinner after I heard you were coming."

" Missed me, haven't you?" Vanraillyn said, half jesting. He wanted to put his arms around the slim shoulders of his companion but knew from experience that Sichael would never allow it.

The wizard colored again. " Whatever." His voice was terse, but the knight knew otherwise. After all, he hadn't spent all those time with Sichael for nothing. " you said that you come from Izlude. Prontera is closer there than Geffen is, and he could have warped you anywhere you want. It would have been easier."

" You were always a sucker for the easier way out, aren't you? Hm… what made you think that he would come with me? What with the fact that he owes not much allegiance to us being a servant of God… and also that he always opted for the option that would save his skin, excepting when it comes to her… I don't think he'll join us."

" You mean we won't all be there." Sichael said, with a note to his voice that was sour. He pushed his thick glasses higher up the delicate bridge of his nose but did not choose to add more. He did not need to, actually. His companion was so used to him he was attuned to the wizard's every turn of mood.

" Nuh- uh." Vanraillyn grinned at Sichael's piqued face and was unable to stop himself from tracing the line of the other's jaw. The wizard tolerated this more patiently than usual. Perhaps he knew of the sobriety of the matter at hand… or perhaps, he had, after all, missed the knight's caresses. " I said that he opted for safety excepting when it comes to her."

" Which means, I think, that we will have to go to Morroc next, right?" Sichael put in, irritably. " I hate traveling. Why did you have to pick me up first?"

" Oh, you know why. I want to have you all to myself before we all meet up with the others. Isn't that obvious?" when the wizard gave off a most uncharacteristic snarl however, the knight decided to change tactics. " I need you more than anyone. Besides, we have always worked together. You and I work almost like one. I don't really know how Morroc moves. She used to be trailed by Prontera in our little missions. At least we're used to each other."

" Hm." Sichael muttered. " Well, here we are. It's not the home sweet home ensemble, but it's alright…"

" You guess. Sheesh. Times like this I realize that you're really a guy to the core." Vanraillyn said, almost as irritably as Sichael had been before. He hated uncomfortable lodgings as much as the wizard hated traveling. And Prontera wet days. It made their life harder to live, actually. Comfort while traveling and only the best inns they could actually afford. And the priest refused to budge even out of bed when he could hear the faint treacle of the rain outside his window. " You are so damned particular I wouldn't have thought this house to be yours."

This was answered by another faint murmur from his companion, and Vanraillyn tied Peaky's harness quietly to the garden's rickety gate. Turning around, he found that the wizard had already gone inside the small rickety house, he fought back a curse as he tried to follow, the leather sheath of his sword clanging rhythmically against his steel armor. The doorway was so narrow he had to move in sideways to fit in his bulk that was fifty percent armor. Considering the wizard's narrow frame, it was a good enough fit, but hell, wasn't he thinking about the comfort of the visitors?

But maybe Sichael wasn't in the habit of entertaining. What with his generally aloof attitude, and his Old Blood descent, he was one of the proudest men Vanraillyn had ever met. And that was including the Priest. " Hey, Sikh, where the hell are you? And what's with the gloomy hallway? Trying to keep rapists out?"

" Just enter the first door to the right. I'll be there in a few minutes." It was impossible to know where the wizard's voice came from. But Vanraillyn followed his instructions anyway. There was no thought about treason when he was with Sichael. The wizard would never sell his soul and betray the Midgardians. There were after all, worse things that could happen if he did. And Vanraillyn knew Sichael enough to know that he always sided with the strongest.

The door that Sichael had described blended in so well with the dark panels of the walls that he had a hard time looking for it. What made him notice it in the first place was the intricate carving of a woman bearing a large jar overflowing with water right by its keyhole. In fact, hidden in the dark recesses of the jar itself was the space where a key, if anyone had any, could have been used to enter the room. " Hey, I admit that it's a pretty door and all, but how do I get in? Secret compartment? Password? Er, magic?"

" Just push it open. It's not locked." Was the wizard's unmagical reply.

Vanraillyn silently chuckled. So much for a magical dwelling. The wizard, he suddenly remembered had as much imagination as a pig in the mud. Which was such a waste. As the keyhole had symbolized, Sichael was from one of the oldest family of magic there was. _The House of Mariné._ The wizard was powerful, all right, but he sure wasn't fun.

The knight entered the most ordinary room a wizard had ever owned. The only things that told the visitor of the owner's identity were the books of witchcraft and magick stacked haphazardly above the bookcase. The couches gathered near the hearth were crooked and draped with threadbare tapestries. Brocades the color of dried blood were drawn over the tall windows and made the room feel somewhat sinister. There was a strange aura about the whole set up. Something sneaky. As if the house had a lot of secrets. Frankly, the knight would have felt better if he had been greeted with a large cauldron of bubbling green liquid and an overhanging severed head. " Gee, talk about creepy. You should try hire an interior designer, Sikh." He didn't expect the wizard to hear, and he got no response.

He lowered himself onto what he gauged to be the sturdiest couch in the room, and threw his cloak right on the table at the center. He wanted to browse some of the books scattered around the room, but was too lazy to get up and examine one. So he thought of the wizard instead, and didn't realize that he had fallen asleep.

..

" Lynn."

Sichael entered the room noiselessly, bringing in a loaded tray with him. The room was suddenly filled with the delicious smell of warm chicken soup and fried apples and onions, and it was as if the sinister aura had been lifted. The wizard had lighted a fire as got in, looking at the logs stacked in the hearth until they ignited, and the crackling of the fire, combined with the rich aroma of their meal gave off a homely atmosphere. Maybe it just needed a personality to light it up. Or rather, the knight's frame draped all over the best couch made it the home Sichael had never felt it was.

The wizard seated himself on the couch nearest the fire and looked absently at Vanraillyn's prone figure. He wanted to wake his companion up, but the look on the knight's face was so tranquil he decided against it. After all, he had traveled from Izlude on his pecopeco, and he knew how tiring that was. Knowing Vanraillyn, he probably failed to stop by nearby inns to eat. He was always an impulsive man. Possibly as well, he was so excited to meet his lover again that eating seemed unimportant.

" I'm such a handsome man, don't you think?"

The wizard started, his attention suddenly focusing on the man before him. " You're awake." He said, unnecessarily. " Well, I hope the soup didn't get cold waiting for you. It was a shame to wake you up you see."

" Oh, it's all right. As long as I wake up to your pretty face." The knight whispered. Making the wizard blush was as much a sport to him as making him angry was Sichael's.

" Don't be such a joker." The wizard snapped. " and finish off your food."

" Anyone ever told you you'd make a good wife?" Vanraillyn was again half jesting, the wizard could tell by the way his eyes looked smoky when his tone fairly bubbled with mirth. He leaned across the table to fix his violet eyes on Sichael.

" Not in the capacity that you mean." The other answered. " As I am sure you know."

" You are too cruel." Vanraillyn said. His voice was a whisper but the tone was sharp.

" Not to you. Never to you." Sichael smiled, as if to take the sting out of his earlier remark.

" Now eat up. You have much to tell me."

" Yes. You don't know how I've missed your cooking, Sikh. Everything seemed to be garbage when you're not around."

" You ought to get a wife."

" Oh, but haven't I, already?"

..

" Now, then, tell me. Ten years ago, the Midgardians parted and vowed never to meet again. It was a vow that led to a lot of complex problems… but a vow nonetheless. Why now do you search far for the guildsmen that you, ten years ago had as good as sent away?" Sichael looked at the knight with his eyes half closed and his hands forming a steeple in front of him. His gloves lay on his right leg that was crossed over his left one. The twilight had fallen over Geffen and left the only source of light inside the room was the reinforced fire at the hearth. The unstable light threw the room in blunt relief, making the tapestries as if they were moving, and the knight's red hair as if it was on fire. His fingers moved as if to lightly touch the soft radiance, but the wizard checked himself. Not until he had known what was to be known.

" Have you heard rumors?" the knight's voice was muted, as before. He was resting his chin on his hand and was looking at the fire with a thoughtful expression, that for him means that he wasn't thinking at all.

" Yes. But don't tell me that they're true."

" Then I won't. But that is the case nonetheless." Vanraillyn transferred his gaze to his companion's elfin face with a soft smile. " I'm at loss as to what to do now, Sikh. I need you so much."

" What is it that you want done?" Sichael ignored the fact that the knight had edged his chair closer to the one he was occupying.

" I want to save the guild. I want to save us." The knight looked sad. The jewel affixed to his forehead glinted in the elusive room, catching the light that was particular, choosing only those which are closest to it. " We had made many enemies, Sikh. Too many, for my peace of mind. If they get wind of the fact that we no longer have the guild's protection, there is a large possibility that…"

" That this will be the end. We go down in backstabbing history. Perhaps the most inglorious defeat those who sell their souls can ever attain." Sichael smiled bitterly.

" Why did you ever join us, Sikh? You could have done better. It's just not like you to be into this dirty business."

" Because I owe my life to one man… and he would have died without me." The wizard answered simply. " Is that why you went here first, Lynn. Because you were afraid of us dying?"

" If I say yes?" the knight's voice was a soft caress.

" Oh, Lynn." His sigh broke the stillness that was made by the crackling of the fire and the song of the crickets outside. " When did I ever leave you?"

Author's note: Sichael of the House of Mariné is a fire wizard, and Vanraillyn Argentum an Agi knight. Sichael's name is pronounced _Seashell _with the accent on the last syllable. And oh, they're both men.


	3. Payon

Part 3: Payon

The alchemist looked at the drunken man before him with growing distaste. True, he had proven before that he could be trusted with the guilds secrets. but couldn't the knight have looked for a more respectable person? Cylade tried to imagine himself traveling to Payon with the drunken man on his shoulders, but failed. He gave the person one more glance before standing up.

" Hey, you goin' now?" the man said, voice so slurred with the drink it was all the alchemist could do to understand him. " Wait up, man. You're not going to leave ol' Rummy here are you?" he tried to stand up, levering himself onto the counter uncertainly.

" Here, let me give you a hand." said the alchemist, looking around the pub to ascertain that no one was paying them attention. Satisfied on that account, he swung his walking stick at Rummy's head with the expressionless face one who was used to tricking others, which he was. You couldn't attract too much attention. And the ticket was to keep calm. He took out his purse and counted enough money to pay for what he had drunk and then some. After all, he might report abuse to their Guild Master, once they've found him, and Cylade had no desire to incur the demon's wrath. It was no wonder their Master could control a bunch of lawless people when he was the devil reincarnated himself. " Sweet dreams, then, little guy."

And with that, the alchemist left the pub.

..

She leaned against the tree wearily. She knew it would be weeks before anyone would venture out so far into the woods. Nobody knew she had gone there, perhaps nobody even cared. She knew only a few people, those whom she considered her friends were gone to her, and so she loved nobody. She was used to looking out for herself, and she had survived all right… until now.

Her gold bracelet caught the dying sun's light and reflected the illumination in its slender surface. It used to be what kept her going, as a child, alone in the gutters of what even then seemed to her a foreign city. Payon never was the benevolent mother town it was to others of her class. She didn't belong there, perhaps she didn't even belong _anywhere_. That she had to stay there as stated in their vow made her angrier than she had ever been in her life. Except perhaps when she found out that her mother had left her in the woods because there were already too many mouths to feed in the family. The memory came back gradually, as did her hatred. Imagine a woman giving up her own daughter like that! And she was helpless then, couldn't even protest or protect herself. It wasn't fair. But then again, nothing ever was fair.

And the bracelet, it was a dim memory of a family to her. Her mother had given it to her, unbeknownst to her father. It was an heirloom, and he was planning to sell it for some food, they were that desperate. She could hear her mother's voice now…

_I'm sorry, my child. But there's no other choice._

No choice! She couldn't speak, hadn't yet learned the language then, even. She was that young. But her green eyes spoke for her the hatred she couldn't express verbally. She was too angry then to be afraid. Too angry to be hurt.

_Here, this belongs to the family. My family before this abominable poverty struck us. You see, our name is written there. If you survive this, if you can remember what I have done, then come back. Look for me. And you can kill me, then if you want. _

It will serve you right for doing this to me. I want to feel your blood flowing down my body. I want to bathe myself in your blood and look at your face as it slowly loses its vitality…

Like mine now.

She wanted to look at the setting sun, but her position beside the tree made it impossible. Her blood was forming a dark pool by her side, and she could see the beauty of its ruby glow. She was past all pain, thank God, if He could see her now. But why would He be paying attention? There was nothing even He can do. God doesn't work in miracles nowadays. He uses mortal intervention. And she was too far away. Too far.

So, her detached mind seemed to cling to consciousness when she would rather have hidden in oblivion, this was Death. It wasn't as painful and morbid as she had thought. Wasn't even the frightening force that she had been dreading. It was almost…

A friend.

So much for looking for revenge.

" Don't die on me now, Crycelda."

His voice. That was familiar enough. Funny what your mind can do when you let it loose. But why his voice in particular?

" Drink this."

Something wet. And sweet. Light, unlike the heavy trickle of blood. She could feel the pain now. What a fickle mistress Death could be. But no. she was not dying. He was there.

The alchemist was there.

" Cylade?" her voice sounded far away, too feeble. But she was conscious now. And the pain. Was it not true that to obtain something, you have to give up something of equal value in return? She could feel the pain now. But was it enough to wish that she was dead? Probably not. But humans always did avoid pain. They couldn't help it. The opt for the easy way out. But she never had. She had some purpose in life that some will never have, and that was what makes her live on when there was nothing else.

" I'm here. Hang in there, dear." he was a friend, wasn't he? One of her few friends. Had they been different, she would never have liked them. Tolerated them, even. They were too human. Too weak. And so strong, as well, in their weakness. But they treated her like she was someone. A person they needed. A friend they liked. And that was what won her. Especially Vanraillyn. He had befriended her when everyone else had given up, the priest hasn't even tried. And that led to the thawing of her heart that made her easier to get along with. Easier to like. Respect after all, had already been gained. It was easier to respect one's enemies than to like them, wasn't it?

" But why?" she wanted to know. After all, forgiveness had already been given. " I don't long for vengeance anymore…."

" We need you, Crycelda." He whispered, softly. She had never had anyone whisper to her like that before. So tenderly.

" I don't see why I should live…" she answered, she would forget about this later, if there was later. She had never answered as honestly as she did now. And a part of her would want to forget that.

" Don't you want to? Don't you want to find a new reason for life? Don't you want to know what life is all about outside your search for revenge?" he was going to vanish anytime. He wasn't real. Couldn't be. They all parted ten years ago, hadn't they? She was talking to a vision. Her conscience maybe. The little voice inside everyone's head.

" Maybe." The idea was tempting. But she was going to die anyway.

" Then open your eyes."

He was looking at her. Green eyes detached, still, but warmer. Holding her head gently, so close that she could feel his breath on her face. He smiled. It was as if for the first time. Perhaps she had never seen him smile. But that was impossible, she had worked with him so long ago. Knew him like the back of her hand.

" Welcome back, Crycelda." He said.

" What's up? How did you find me?"

" We used to hunt here together. You said you loved this place, remember?" ah, yes. That was it. She could remember telling him that. " We need you. Troubles have arisen."

She drank more of the white potion he had given her. Her wound had already been treated with the herb he uses to make the same potion. But it was less potent that way. She could still feel a dull throbbing at her side where the monster had wounded her. " What is it now?"

" Our Master had vanished."

" Bully for our Master."

Author's note: Crycelda is an AgiDex Huntress. You now see why the alchemist is more of a supporter. The Midgardians usually work in pairs. Lynn works with the wizard, Crycelda is supported by Cylade and the priest and the assassin, whom we will meet later on. Rök on!


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4: Morroc

She was crouching in the shadows. For some, her methods could be labeled as cowardly. But she didn't care. Being human and granted like the rest of the species with only one life, she had no intention on wasting it for honor. Or anything else for that matter. What she had to do was earn money. And what easier way than to try her luck in the fighting rooms? The person who gets to beat the most opponents gets a sizable prize money. She had done it dozens of times before. And if some of them got killed in the process, then that wasn't her concern was it? She did not talk them into entering, anyway.

Someone was approaching her hideout unawares. Probably a newbie. The oldest challengers knew of her. And they knew this was her favorite corner. She hid.

The swordsman was so close she could actually touch him from where she was crouched. She casted Grimtooth, voicing out the words as softly as possible. Most assassins set great store on their other skills, like Sonic Blow and even Envenom. But she was known after all as a person who avoided any possible risk. While people of the same class relied on their agility to get the job done, she specialized in more subtle means of attack. Particularly hiding… and the Grimtooth.

Not that it was in any way lacking in the finer points of martial arts. As it were, the strength of the attack needed grate dexterity in the part of the caster. And calculating the needed dexterity and agility had not been a walk in the park. She cannot, after all, afford to miss. Being of the class wherein speed was the most important of all, her strength wasn't enough to ward much of the opponents blow. One wrong step meant death.

Her quarry looked around self consciously, probably feeling the slight oppressing atmosphere that usually surrounds the casted skill's receiving end. But it was not enough for him to actually grow suspicious. That is, until large spikes rose from the ground itself and impaled him thereof.

She got out of hiding to take away the swordie's registration pin that was attached to his cloak. Each participant was given a pin upon entry inside the fighting rooms. It served as identification, as well as a fitting trophy for those veteran Pin Collectors. The more pins one had, the more chance one got for the winning of the prize money. As of now, the Assassin figured that she was leading the rat race.

" Help." His voice was choked. With blood or weakness, she didn't know. She shouldn't really care as well, but it must have been the gray eyes. His eyes were all but filmed with death. Sad and cold. Distant and full of impotent anger. Like the Priest's. How she could remember his face as the world was slowly revealed to him, as he grew up. His disillusionment. He never was the same since. Never again the eager acolyte who went hurrying to the Sanctuary in order to save his friend, the innocent believer who only wanted to do good. Changed now. He was too cold. But he was the same to her. After all, he always knew of her evil. What a pair they had been. The Despairing Cleric and the Money Hungry Murderer.

" Here." She spat out, tossing one of her white potions at the young man. " Drink that after the spikes come back to the earth and leave your flesh. Try to get the right thing done by an acolyte, will you?"

She was getting mellow. She probably needed a man. Maybe tonight.

..

" Well, aren't we going today?"

The wizard looked at the knight who was seated at the foot of his bed lazily. " You say yourself that this is an urgent matter. Aren't we going off to Morroc to fetch our treacherous assassiness?" he pulled the bedcovers tightly against himself when he felt Vanraillyn's coy attempt to reveal his nakedness to the pale morning light. " Lay off, ogre! How is it that you can think of trivialities when matters of more importance are at hand?"

" How is it that you can shout out the vilest of abuses and still sound so prim?" the knight retorted. " You're really from the Old Blood, aren't you? Sure you want them to die out?"

" What do you mean?" the wizard had taken his staff from its corner by the bedside table and had used it to give his companion a satisfying bump on the head.

" Ouch! Man, Sikh, that hurt. Anyone tell me of wizard frailty and I'm gonna tell them to try woo you." He grinned, towering over Sichael menacingly. " You're taking me in as your lover, I mean. Are you sure you won't marry and continue the royal House of Mariné, dear?"

" What does it matter?" Sichael said, somewhat sharply. " The Old Blood isn't that powerful as they were, you know. They've gone out of style. Besides, being the person that I am, do you think my loving mother wasted time in disowning me?"

" Hm, she could commit bigger mistakes." The knight caught hold of the wizard's long raven hair and was playing with it as one would play with water.

" Quit it, Sir Knight. You're not being gentlemanly at all." The wizard snapped. He would have done more, but etiquette forbade anyone from casting serious damage on your fellow guildsman.

" You're no damsel in distress yourself, Sikh. You're as manly as they come, you know. And Heaven forgive the man who would mistake that girly face of yours!" he chuckled at his own cruel joke, keeping his own tangled relationship with the wizard way out of the line of fire.

" Hm, thank you." Sichael said, " Now leave and let me get dressed will you?"

" Man, what can I see now that I haven't already seen?" the other complained.

" What one had touched before isn't exactly free for all time." Was the reply before the knight got the door slammed to his face.

" Can't you just say I won't be able to get my hands off you if I see you naked?"

" That, too."

" Alissa…"

The man on top of her was heavy. Smelled of sweat, even. Too male. Unlike him. It was what made her unfaithful to him in the first place. It was not only for the sake of variety. She thought she needed a man. The fact that the Priest was the only one who can ever arouse her like that only made it worse. There must be something genetically wrong with her. Or maybe she just hated manly men. Both prospects seemed insane.

She tried to keep her mind on what she was doing, but she couldn't seem to. Too bad that she had to remember his gray eyes right now. Her memories of him distracted her. She thought that that was long past. Oh, she never doubted the intensity of her feelings for him. That used to frighten her as well. But she tried so hard to tell herself that all was finished. She had to move on. They had made their vows to part, and she wasn't going to see him again. He'll probably rot in the Sanctuary preaching to people about God. People he never believed in to share the faith. People he had given up on long ago. He was probably dying there, wanting to kill them every time they look up at him as he says Mass. And, oh, did they expect him to be pure when they were not? Let's not kid ourselves.

But he was true to his faith. Locked up as he was within the four walls of the Sanctuary, which was anything but to him, she didn't think he would give in to the demands of the flesh. Considering that he saw men as damned, she couldn't think otherwise. He hated men. Hated even the most helpless, which made him false as a priest. But she couldn't help but respect him. He was the nicest example of sharp dichotomies in the history of mankind. He was good, inspired others to do good, when through it all, he was hating mankind, judging them too dirty even for the cleansing torments of Hell. Black and White. Good and Evil.

" What's wrong, love? You- you're out in the sky with your head amid the clouds."

Hm, he could talk poetry, her temporary lover. Talk poetry, and be thick enough to assume that no one would think of anything while making love to him but his handsome, scarred face. " Just tired." She managed, trying to get him off her. " Sorry. Was a long day."

" Hell, chick, it is for everybody. You don't hear us complain though, do you?" he snapped at her. She wished he wouldn't do that. She wanted to wipe his saliva off her face, but he was holding her hands in a tight grip. " Now give a man his due, whore. You think you're so pretty that you can just back off our agreement now, do you? Suck it!"

She kept her mouth in a firm line as he tried to shove his engorged manhood inside. " I wouldn't recommend that, darling."

" Bitch!" he was trembling with anger and disappointed desire. She smiled, shoving her legs so that she had the guy's head between her feet, she swung hard, freeing herself of his weight as he landed back on the bed with a thud.

" I said I'm sorry, okay? You can't understand simple English?" she felt free, as if a burden had left her shoulders and rolled to oblivion.

But she wanted so much to cry.

" You think she'll come with us?"

" You came, didn't you? And I think she's a lot more loyal to the guild than you are. She'll come. It's a chance to meet him again, you see. Hmp, don't tell me the Midgardians worked without their personal interests in mind." Vanraillyn said. He hoped he was correct. The priest won't join them unless the assassin was there, he was sure of that. Losing one was losing the other.

" Whatever. You can't help but think in the terms of the heart, can you? She'll probably come anyway if you tell her that we have to have our Master back or we die. In enemy hands, no less." The other pointed out. He was about to add more, but suddenly stopped.

" What's wrong, Sikh? Didn't get bitten by anything, did you?" the knight asked, too sharply.

" Don't panic like that, Lynn. I'm okay. Just fine. There's just more sand in my shoe than it has my foot. I hate Morroc! Hell, I hate this. Why did you have to leave the pecopeco back home anyway?" his companion snapped, taking off the despised shoe.

" Because what with two of us and an assassin to boot, we would have attracted to much attention. We can't drag the pecopeco with us, too. It's not that far, once we get out of the Sograt Desert, it'll be better." The knight said, soothingly. He knelt down by Sichael and helped in lacing the shoe back on. " We'll get there in two days."

" Two days!" the wizard exploded. " don't you have money to have us warped there?"

" We do. But I have left most of it in Izlude. So it's no use to shout, darling. Besides, we can't waste money when we could walk."

" I hate you, Vanraillyn." Sichael said.

" You never told me that in bed before, though, dear." the knight pointed out. " Now, you know our lives depend on this little venture and we have to have our assassin with us. So I don't see why you have to complain. Perhaps you want other guilds whom we had served ill coming at us with death in their hands? Come on, Sikh. Be practical will you?"

Well, thought the wizard, perhaps I have undervalued the knight's mental processes. But still… " Fine. But I still hate Morroc. I hate sand, it gets to everything."

" You know, I like you when you pout, but I must say that I thought no one would be as finicky as Cylade. I was wrong." Vanraillyn was glad he had taken off his knight's ensemble and left them in Geffen. If he had to wear that blasted chainmail in this heat, he'd die of suffocation. After all, it was all he could do to walk in those stuff at the best of times. If it would ever be that they have to face monsters out here, he'll have to do without protective armor. He could now see why thieves were so scantily clad. The heat was not melting. It was broiling. Remembering the fact that the priest used to live in these parts when he was still training with some nun as an acolyte, he couldn't see how the person had survived. He had to admit that they were all particular, but the priest was particularly so. After all, Cylade almost never complained vocally. And Sichael was always too preoccupied to say anything. Or perhaps they just didn't want the Master to get angry at them. The priest was the only one who dared. Funny.

The wizard was silent. He had taken off his cloak and had it slung over his shoulder with the face of one who was ordered to carry the cross he would be crucified onto. He had braided his hair tightly with a leather thong earlier, but the hot desert winds had pushed several wisps free and they danced around the wizard's pale face now. " I feel so dirty. First thing I do is take a bath."

Vanraillyn smiled faintly. He avoided the skeletons scattered around absently, wishing he would find an oasis and stay there. Stay. Forget the Guild Master. Let him rot in hell. I'm hot. The sands were hot to his feet. He had discarded his boots and had opted for sandals, but it sure didn't help. But weirdly enough, the undulations of the dunes didn't rise that steeply, despite the strong winds and that made walking easier. " Put your cloak back on, Sikh. You're gonna be sunburned."

" It's too hot." Sichael complained, but he looked at his pale arms and complied. " Let's stop here, Lynn." He did not wait for his companion's reply, but seated himself under what looked like a coconut tree.

Vanraillyn seated himself beside the wizard, offering his weaker companion the canteen of water. " Drink up. We could always kill a damn Mukha."

The offer of the drink accepted, the wizard cocked his head to one side. " Do you hear something, Lynn?"

" Hm, what? My stomach growling?" but then he heard it. A low drone. And the flutter of wings. Hundreds of wings.

" Goddamn! It's the Dragon Fly!" the knight cursed profanely, something he learned while training. And to prove that he was a Midgardian, like the rest of the finicky gang, he grimaced. " I hate flies!"

Sichael smiled. " Then leave them to me." He was already in the middle of casting a firewall.

Alissa was seated by the counter, sipping her mead. It was coarse, stronger than her customary ale, but it was cheap, and that was important. She wished she had ordered a lemonade. They've never drunk mead together. But then again, he always had money to pay for the drinks.

" Yoh, Ali, I didn't know you drank mead."

She turned around. The knight was grinning at her, it was like the ten years had never been. She could still remember the first time they met._ Hey, I'm Vanraillyn Argentum. Say, you and your companion are pretty folks. Wanna join up in our guild? _But it was different. She was older, wiser, more bitter. Only Vanraillyn was the same. He looked undaunted by real life. Shaken, maybe. But unbeaten. Lucky him.

He was also carrying the wizard in his arms.

" What happened?" she asked, curiously. It would be a waste to get worried. If the knight wasn't, why should she?

" Oh, nothing major. He's just dead tired. Had to fight off a Dragon Fly and his mob single handedly. Who wouldn't be? I had to make him drink a lot of red pots though. Frail man, Sichael."

" Where were you?" she demanded, with a side of the mouth lifted slightly.

" Uhm… can we rent a room here?"

" Why don't we just get warped to Prontera? It would save time. I know an acolyte who could help us." She suggested. " It would be cheaper."

" I'm so glad you'll join us." The knight shifted his position so that he could look at his burden. " See, she's coming with us. What did I tell you, Sikh."

" I'm tired Lynn. Shut up."

Author's note: Thanks for the review, Jonathan kun. It's greatly appreciated… not to speak of the fact that you're the only one who bothered… but I'm just being bitter. About the yaoi pairing… well, they are the main pair… but I'm asking for a bit of understanding here. I think the knight's protectiveness for the wizard is kind of cute… I'm not accusing you to be a homophobe or something, I just want you to think of them as two people in love rather than two icky guys having sex. XP.

As for the Cylade Crycelda pairing… I think they're cool too. but you won't find them overly sweet or anything. It makes up for the Ali-El kind of thing. Oh, yeah, starting this chapter, things are going to get kind of lemonish… a lot of adult stuff going on… but don't let my real age get around… ne?

As for Pinky kun ( who didn't review online.), I thank her for her comments. Yes, I'm just introducing my characters. Things are going to get bloodier soon… I hope. Tell that to your buddy.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5: Prontera

It was time for the morning mass. He looked at his reflection in the mirror the bishop had had placed in the vestry. It was widely known that the bishop was a very vain man, and had ordered the clergy to bring in one of his large mirrors so that he'd always be able to look at himself before starting mass and making sure that he looked his best. While the priest believed that the sons of God appear before their Maker in their best, he also believed that they ought to care about their insides as well. After all, if God was particular enough to look at Man's external array, what stops Him from looking inside us and seeing the evil within? But of course, him being what he was, just a priest, returned from his search of Good, and concerned with a business that was labeled as Evil, he couldn't very well voice his opinions. And he didn't care. We would all meet in hell, anyway.

There were dark circles under his eyes, and those, combined with his pale complexion made him look ill. He lacked sleep, and he was hungry. Over zealousness should never be partnered with greed. As it were, the priests of the lower levels barely get to eat anything but the proverbial loaf of bread. Considering the state of matters, he just wanted to die. And if he didn't get nourishment to eat, he just might do that anyway. But not fast enough.

She used to kid him about fasting then. He had stopped doing so when he reached his twentieth year, when he suddenly realized the futility of it all and just let go. Of course, she had warned him about that. She knew what the world was like. She had taken the lives of too many people, had tricked out too many things, had lain with so many men… for of course he knew. He probably wasn't enough. But it never bothered him. Until now. He wanted to know if she had ever loved him. It was probably too late, but it didn't matter. It was just a matter of knowing.

And that was when he realized that he missed her. He was probably dying, anyway, what was stopping him from seeking her out? It would be the last thing he'll see, her elusive smile. She was too beautiful for her own good, but no one had ever lain out the law that evil people should be ugly. And he must admit, she wasn't that heartless, either. That was what he realized as he went about his journey with her. Realized and loved. No one could be totally evil. It was possibly why God hadn't ended it all.

And she possessed that weird motherly personality, something that he knew she had that made her want to protect him. Her love could probably be no more than that, but it didn't matter. He loved her. And he wanted to believe it was good enough for two. But he wouldn't really know, would he? And what right had he to love, when he had declared his vows so long ago? Vows he never did keep. Because he loved her. And it was that strong.

" Father, are you ready yet?" the sacristan's voice was a mere explosion of sound, for all the meaning he derived from it, but he nodded, following the poor boy out of the vestry without another word. Another mass to be said in front of people he knew were there to show off. Or to sleep. Or maybe even to make love.

He went through the motions absently, filling in the deepest recesses of the Sanctuary with his clear, almost soprano voice that made others wonder if he was a _castrati_ or just abnormal. He was hungry enough to know that the wine could intoxicate him, at this state, anything would. If only there were miracles still. It didn't matter if he was as sinful as the rest of them. God doesn't need excuses.

And then he heard her voice.

Impossible, his tortured mind screamed. Isn't it funny? You break down and get crazy right in the middle of mass. But the voice was calling his name, _ Father, Father Elusa…_ she never called him that. For her, he was a man. Her lover, maybe. But a priest? Probably not. The sacristan was looking at him with a funny expression on his face. Mad. Mad. Mad. Do you see I'm mad?

And then he saw her. And he knew he wasn't dreaming, wasn't seeing visions, wasn't even drunk. How else could she seem too real?

" Let go of me! Hey, watch it!" she snapped, with remarkable show of human violence.

" Assassin!" someone with penchant for melodrama cried. But they couldn't hang on to their quarry, she was protesting too much.

" I just want to confess! Let me go. Please, Father, let me confess before I…"

He caught her cue. " Let her go. Don't you see she's dying?" not more than I am. But who would say that? " Is not God's mercy open to all those who seek for him? Let her go, I say. Woman, I would hear your sins after the conclusion of this mass." And then I'd realize I was mistaken. That it wasn't her at all. He would die and would not see her. But God, was he hungry!

He entered the confessional slowly. His heart was pounding so loudly he thought surely he would die now. But he didn't. and he wanted it so to be her.

She was not there, kneeling in the traditional way of humility and reverence, but something told him she had gone inside. A lingering scent of lavender, maybe. But she had gone where only a priest should have gone and that alone signified something. Meant nothing. " Alissa?" he couldn't stop himself from saying her name. He wanted to hear it out loud. Just for the sake of making sure it ever existed. " Are you there?"

She was looking at him saucily, with a decidedly lascivious glint to her violet eyes. He had forgotten that. He felt himself harden. So long since he'd had her. " Elusa, did you miss me?"

" Alissa? But why?" he asked, helplessly. He was at her mercy. And he suddenly felt so free. " Why have you come here?"

" Later, love. I came here to confess, didn't I?" she was wearing nothing beneath her cloak, and that small impediment was cast aside with characteristic lack of modesty. He caught his breath, feeling the blood rush to his pale cheeks and the parts that declared him male. " Forgive me, for I have sinned."

So have I. So will I. But then again, this is what I wanted, wasn't it? Better die happy before going to hell. " Tell me your sins then." He whispered. She was already at his clothes, tearing at the frayed black cloth to revel in his nakedness. He shivered pleasantly, remembering her touch, loving the way she kissed him, tasted him. " Alissa…"

" Hm, what's wrong? Don't you want this?" she murmured against him, her lips moving against his, her hands touching the proof his desire tentatively, not because she was unsure but because that was how she always teased him. He clutched at the door of the confessional in a certain desperation. " Elusa, touch me, touch me…" she was moaning it like a litany, placing his free hand on her breasts. " Goddammit, El, touch me, kiss me. Please."

He obeyed, albeit in a manner that was unsure, and because it had been so long, he felt that he couldn't hold back any longer. " Alissa, please." He hissed, sharply. He was intoxicated with her lavender scent, in love with her every motion, dying a thousand deaths.

" Do it, El. Come on, do it." She was challenging him, looking at him with smoky violet eyes. She pushed him against the seat roughly, half dragging him along when he stepped on his skirt and almost fell. Shoving the last article of his clothing upwards so that it bunched in tortured folds by his narrow waist, she taunted him, rubbing the gates of her womanhood at his tip so that he thought he was going crazy of desire for her.

" Damn it, Alissa, claim me. Ali…ssa!" he got hold of her in a desire roughened embrace and pulled her close. Close enough, straddling him, he entered her, reveling in her warm sticky opening. Her love juice trickled down his thighs, maddening him further. Coupled with the near desperate and aggressive rhythmical movement of her hips, her moans and her own warmth, the wet, the stickiness, he wondered if he was indeed, dead.

If he wasn't, he certainly was dying now. Alissa could feel the priest throb inside of her, signaling his nearing climax. And she doubled her efforts, clutching at his long silver hair in her passion. " Elusa."

" I… I'm coming, Alissa… I…" he felt her contract around him, and knew he was lost. It was as warm as hell inside the confessional, but he was past caring. Breathing even then seemed unimportant. He released his load inside of her, moaning her name. " Alissa, Alissa, Alissa."

" I missed you, Father."

She was still straddling him, but was still, savoring the feel of him inside her in her after glow. He looked at her vaguely, his mind registering the fact that they had just made love in the acrobatic confines of the confessional… inside Church, for the love of all God's creatures, no less! But she was real. Or he had just created the best illusionary prelude to masturbating ever. Considering that he never did that, it had to be the former. " Hm."

" Does that count as a sin? I want you now, and we just finished." She whispered at his ear, and he felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise. " I love you, El."

He wanted to curl up on the hard seat and sleep. " Do you know that God is love?"

" Duh."

" Then how could love be a sin?" he toyed with her hair absently, cherishing her weight on top of him. " Why are you here, then?"

" The Master had vanished. We need you."

" And they sent you to me…. That was wise of them." There was a pause. And then, " Alissa, I'm hungry. Let's go."

Author's note: I based the Priesthood on Catholicism, by far the best and most oppressive religion in terms of their clergy. So, this little affair with Alissa, even if the priest doesn't think of it that way, is actually a sin, and a breach on his vow of celibacy and chastity. His build is the Magnus Exorcismus.


End file.
